Funny Thing About Strength

There’s a funny thing about strength,
determined by how much
Just one force of matter
Can hold up another.
How much weight.
How many multiplications of said weight.
That ability which grows over time
With practice
And trials
And hardship and failures.
Where tiny raw edged stones
cause us to fall
And where just as we get back up
We’re met with slaps of wind
Cacti plants
And other strong forces.
And though try as I might
Will as I may,
I’ll never be like them
Be able to compete fairly.
To carry all that matter on my shoulders
Of petite and average build,
barren of armory
Void of direction
So truly foolishly I persistent onward.

But I’ve grown tired
of building muscle
And stamina
Holding back tears
Maintaining face.
I rest
I eat
I ice
I assure my body
The lies it needs to hear.
But still I am struck awake.
Still I squeeze my pillow
With shaking hands
A pounding
heart
Aiming to feel free.

My wounds,
They recover over time.
My scars,
They become a part of me
I learn to live with.
My shortness of breath,
The feeling of being unable to
stop feeling,
it relaxes as I pull through.
I’ve gone the mile extra
Walked in the pouring rain
And took every fork in my path
Just to meet “this road ends.”
But the road to hell
is paved with good intentions,
Anxiety from it all.
But onwards I continue.

How strong can I be
if I can hold mountains
But never move it?
How powerful can I be
if I can lift up others
But never locate my own puzzle pieces?
How tough can I be
if I’ve done it all;
Learned to use my entire core
And crawl through the muddy tunnels
with metal chains dangling from my legs
Carry on for miles
Head held high
Passion beaming through my eyes
Through all seasons.

What fool is so determined
So absent minded and focused
On building
And growing
Following so much failure?
I’ve set my motto every day to
a chapter of faith. Of inspiration.
.יָגַעְתִּי וּמָצָאתִי תַּאַמִין
Try and you will succeed.
Believe in yourself
And you can.
But would you believe me
if I shared this?
Would you trust that I cannot?
Would you comprehend
My fears. My agony. My sores.
My defeat?

I see my muscle fat
I know I’ve grown
– more capable of carrying more matter.
Still I’ve yet to hear the sounds of triumph
Taste the juice of the sweet nectar –
To feel the glory of victory
The exclamation points with it.
Rather I wonder
How inconsistent my strength must be
If I feel myself suddenly crumbling
And my elasticity can function
no longer.